No Brazilian For Me

A while back, we had a story on our newscast about how New Jersey was thinking about banning the Brazilian. The wax, not the model.

Now I normally would not share something this intimate, but...oh, what the hell!

It's the summer of 2004. I'm sitting in a salon that no longer exists on Third Avenue and 50th, getting a manicure. A group of us gals getting our nails done, shootin' the breeze. And then someone asks me, have you ever had a Brazilian? No, I reply innocently. I haven't. Then everybody gets all enthusiastic about the wonders of the Brazilian as opposed to just the usual bikini wax, and before I know it, I am lying on a table in a private room, and Georgette, my capable Romanian aesthetician is barking orders. "Keep your legs up!" This isn't going to hurt a bit!"

She lied.

Short of childbirth, it was the most painful thing I ever put myself through voluntarily. All right, I'm exaggerating. A little. But how do I describe to you the shock when that first strip of hot wax was ripped off my sensitive body? And it just kept getting worse.

You remember that scene from the movie, The 40-Year-Old Virgin, when Steve Carell's character is getting his chest waxed? Well, I hope I don't have to point out to you Georgette was not dealing with THAT amount of hair. I mean, please. But the scene did resonate with me, because he was just getting his CHEST waxed. And he was screaming. So you can just imagine.

Anyway, before we even get to the halfway mark, I say to Georgette, who now seems evil to me, standing over me with that next terrible strip ready to go, STOP!

She tells me she CAN'T stop, it's going to look funny. I tell HER, I don't care! I just won't go to the beach this summer!

The upshot is, she insists on finishing. She has professional pride. I have an area of my body that is on fire.

Did I mention this was the summer of 2004? Haven't gotten another one of those babies since. And don't plan to again.

Now don't get me wrong. I know many women, and men, love it. And don't experience much pain. (How is that possible? It's like when I hear about women whose experience with childbirth is, she's mopping the kitchen floor and ....oh, look, the baby just came out! I am so envious. But I digress.)

I guess some people are just made of sterner stuff than I. I admit it. When it comes to THAT, I am a big...wuss. So sue me.